


Give a Little Love

by jemmaniac



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, F/M, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-06 06:55:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3125174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jemmaniac/pseuds/jemmaniac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When their mutual best friends die in an accident, Oliver and Felicity become the guardians of a little girl. </p><p>A <em>Life as We Know It</em> AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Felicity only agrees to go out with Oliver Queen to appease Laurel, who has been bugging her for weeks to meet Tommy’s best friend.

“Ollie’s great,” Laurel tells her for what is probably the thousandth time. For the past week, she’s done nothing but talk about how great and perfect and amazing Oliver is, and Felicity’s more than a little worried that the hard sell is a bad sign. “You’re going to love him.”

“If he’s so great why don’t you date him?” Felicity asks, cradling the phone between her shoulder and her neck as she sorts through the messy stack papers on her desk, looking for the IT request the Head of Accounting supposedly sent to her office this morning. In hard copy. She’s going to have send out yet another reminder that all forms should be submitted electronically. 

“I’m with Tommy,” Laurel reminds her, as though it would be possible to forget that the two of them have been joined at the hip for the past six months. “Besides, Ollie and I did date. Back in high school.”

“So you didn’t want him, and now you’re trying to pawn him off on me?” Felicity says, finding the form and doing a quick celebratory fist pump. 

“I’m not pawning him off on you, Felicity.” Laurel says, and from the tone of her voice she sounds like she’s rolling her eyes. “I just think you’ll like him. Plus, Tommy and I are getting serious, so you really should meet Oliver.”

“Meet, yeah. I get that. I would be completely and totally fine with meeting Oliver Queen. But why do we have to go on a date?” Felicity asks. In her experience, blind dates are always a recipe for disaster, and she can’t imagine why this one would be any different. Felicity doesn’t think she has a type, but if she did, it would definitely not be billionaire playboys. 

“How long has it been since you’ve been on a date?” Laurel asks, using her lawyer voice.

“A year,” Felicity admits. Which, yes, that makes her sound more than a little pathetic, but she’s still getting used to Starling City, and she’s adjusting to her job at Queen Consolidated, and she’s just been really, really busy, okay?

“A year,” Laurel repeats. “That is insane and totally unacceptable. You deserve to find a great guy, and Ollie is a great guy.”

“Wasn’t he on TMZ last week for peeing on a cop?”

“That was...a misunderstanding,” Laurel says carefully.

Felicity snorts. “Right.”

“Okay, so, he’s made some mistakes,” Laurel concedes. “But Ollie’s gorgeous and he’s charming and he’s just...he’s a really great guy. I promise.”

“Ugh, Laurel, I don’t know...” 

“Please, Felicity?” Laurel begs. “Go out on a date with the super-hot billionaire? I’ll be your best friend.”

“You’re already my best friend,” Felicity says. The truth is, she knows this is probably going to be a complete disaster. Tommy’s great and all, but Felicity really doesn’t want to date one of his entitled trust-fund frat boy friends. Especially not one with the reputation of Oliver Queen. But it’s one date and it’ll make Laurel happy, so: “Fine,” she says, relenting. “I’ll do it.”

“Yay! Thank you, Felicity,” Laurel says, and she sounds so happy that Felicity’s glad she agreed. “You are not going to regret this. You and Ollie are going to totally love each other, I promise.”

*

Felicity’s first date with Oliver is supposed to be lunch on a Friday afternoon at a burger place a couple of blocks from Queen Consolidated. Even though the venue isn't exactly fancy, she still woke up an hour early so she could blow-dry her hair and try on a few different outfits. She ended up going with a borderline work-inappropriate pink dress with a flared skirt and the highest pair of heels she owns, a choice she regrets after walking the four blocks from her office to Big Belly Burger. Which is why she opts for going ahead and getting a table for two to wait for Oliver, not sure if her feet can take it if she has to stand and wait for him to arrive. 

Last night, when they talked on the phone, Laurel warned her that Oliver isn’t exactly known for his punctuality, so Felicity brought her tablet with her, just in case, telling herself she would only bring it out in the most dire of circumstances. She tries to give Oliver the benefit of the doubt, she really does, but when the waitress comes by to refill her water glass for the third time, she decides she’s had enough. She goes ahead and orders the Big Belly Buster with a chocolate shake and pulls out her tablet, figuring at the very least she can work on a particularly tricky bit of code she’s been having trouble with all morning. At least this way, her lunch hour won’t be a total loss.

Felicity has managed to make some progress on the code and is sucking down the dregs of the shake when Oliver finally shows up, wearing worn-in jeans and army green henley and looking like he just rolled out of bed. He’s got dark circles under his eyes and what is probably a week’s worth of stubble on his cheeks, but even with all of that, he is undeniably gorgeous. At least Laurel wasn’t lying about that. 

“Felicity Smoak?” he says, coming up to her table and giving her an easy smile, like he’s not an hour late. “Hi, I’m Oliver Queen.”

“Hello, Oliver Queen,” Felicity says, trying to sound bored and not at all impressed by his whole tall, built, super-hot _thing_. “You’re late.”

Oliver blinks, but then his smile actually gets a little wider. “Would you believe I was saving an orphan?” he asks. When her only reaction is a skeptical look over the top of her glasses, he adds, “And a puppy?” 

Felicity smiles despite herself, locking her tablet and turning off the display. “An orphan _and_ a puppy, huh?”

“Yep,” Oliver says, still smiling that easy smile, a smile that only falters when she slips her tablet into her bag and pushes back her chair. “Uh…” he says. “Are you going somewhere?”

“Yes,” Felicity tells him, hooking her bag over her arm and smoothing down her skirt. “I’m going back to work. My lunch hour is over.”

“But we have a date.” His confusion would be endearing if Felicity hadn’t just wasted an hour of her incredibly busy day waiting for him to show up. Not that it was entirely wasted, since the food was actually pretty good and she did manage to get some work done on her tablet, but still. The point stands.

“No, we _had_ a date,” Felicity corrects. “Which you were obscenely late for, and which is now, sadly, over before it’s even begun.”

“Sadly?” he repeats, picking up on what was probably the least important part of that sentence.

“Yes, ‘sadly.’ Because I was actually kind of looking forward to meeting you, since you’re Tommy’s best friend and Laurel has completely talked you up, telling me how great and handsome and charming you are. But now I’ve got to go to work, so _sadly_ , I’m not going to know if any of those things are true. Except obviously the handsome part. I mean, you’re very attractive, which, I’m sure you know that, you’ve seen you, and…” She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, silently counting backwards from three. “Anyway,” she says, opening her eyes. “It was very nice to meet you, Oliver, but I need to get back to work.” 

One corner of his mouth twitches in amusement, but other than that, Oliver doesn’t react to her babbling. That, at least, is a mark in his favor. “Tommy said you work at Queen Consolidated.”

“I do,” she confirms, feeling a little off-balance at the sudden change of subject. “I’m in the IT department.”

The smiles comes back in full force. “Well then, you’re in luck,” he says. He takes a step closer to her, getting right into her personal space. He really is ridiculously attractive, and he smells kind of amazingly good, like sandalwood and leather. “It just so happens that I’ve got an in with the boss, and I know for a fact he wouldn’t mind if you took an extra hour for lunch.”

Felicity rolls her eyes. See? This is exactly why she is not -- and will never be -- interested in Oliver Queen, no matter how handsome he is and how nice he smells. She’s spent her entire life working her butt off to get where she is, and he wants to just swoop in and throw his family’s name and power around to get what he wants? No, thank you.

“Well, as tempting as that offer is, I’ve got a desk full of work orders that I would like to finish before this weekend,” she tells him. “And an extra hour at lunch just means that I’m going to have to stay an extra hour at work tonight, which means it’ll be all dark and creepy and empty in the parking garage when I finally leave, which means I’ll probably give myself a panic attack thinking that there’s some kind of nefarious bad guy lurking in my backseat, waiting to accost me, and really, I just...I need to get back to work now.”

“You think there’s going to be someone lurking in your backseat if you stay late at work?” Oliver asks, bemused.

Felicity feels herself blush, feeling more than a little silly. “I mean, no. Probably not,” she says with as much dignity as she can muster. 

He smiles a little wider at that, and Felicity has to remind herself that, no matter how unbelievably attractive Oliver is, he stood her up for their date -- a date, Felicity wants it to be noted, she didn’t even want to go on in the first place -- and totally wasted a huge chunk of her afternoon.

So Felicity resists the smile that’s tugging at the corner of her mouth; she is _not_ going to be charmed by Oliver Queen. Not now, not ever. So she keeps her face neutral as she squares her shoulders, tilting her chin up to look him in the eye. 

“Goodbye, Oliver,” she says. “It was nice to meet you.”

“But…” Oliver starts to protest, but Felicity’s already turning away, heading for the door and leaving him standing in the middle of the restaurant alone.

*

The next time Felicity sees Oliver, she’s standing at the bar at Tommy and Laurel’s engagement party, trying to get the bartender’s attention.

Her attempts are somewhat impeded by the couple next to her, both of whom seem more interested in groping each other than getting anything to drink. Felicity rolls her eyes and ducks around them, leaning over the bar until she catches the bartender’s eye and holds up her empty wine glass. He nods and Felicity sits back, casting an irritated glance at the couple before realizing with a start that the guy is none other than Oliver Queen. Ugh. Of course.

Unfortunately, he and the girl break apart just as Felicity glances in their direction, and Oliver’s gaze meets hers. Shit. Felicity turns away quickly in what she hopes is a subtle, not-at-all-obvious move of avoidance, silently willing him not to recognize her. 

But then: “Felicity,” Oliver says, pulling away from the woman he’s with and giving Felicity that same easy smile that he flashed at her all those months ago when he basically stood her up at lunch. 

“Oliver Queen,” she says, taking her glass of red wine from the bartender and turning towards Oliver. The woman with him turns to face her, and Felicity starts a little in surprise. “...and Sara Lance?”

“Hey, Felicity,” Sara says with a bright smile, leaning over to give Felicity a hug. 

Felicity hugs her back, narrowing her eyes at Oliver over Sara’s shoulder. Ugh, it figures that he’d be making out with Laurel’s kid sister at her engagement party.

But Oliver furrows his brow, like he’s confused as to why she might be glaring at him. “What?” he mouths, but before she gets a chance to answer, Sara’s pulling back to stand next to Oliver, smiling at the two of them.

“I didn’t know you two knew each other,” Sara says, bumping her shoulder against Oliver’s. 

“We don’t,” Felicity says, just as Oliver says, “We dated.”

Oliver tilts his head, frowning at her, and Felicity rolls her eyes.

Sara raises her eyebrows as she looks between the two of them, smirking a little. “O-kaaaay. Well, I’m going to go rescue my sister from the country club brigade over there –” She nods to where Laurel’s looking pained as a group of middle-aged women in pearls and Chanel suits ooh and ahh over her engagement ring. “Why don’t you two decide if you know each other or not,” Sara says, her mouth curled up in an amused half-smile. “It was good seeing you again, Felicity. You too, Ollie.” She trails a suggestive hand across his shoulder, winking at him as she heads over to Laurel.

“Hooking up with you ex-girlfriend’s sister,” Felicity says once Sara’s out of earshot. “Classy.”

“What? Like Laurel’s going to care?” He takes a sip of his drink, and gestures towards the other side of the room where Sara is expertly extricating Laurel from the gaggle of women. “You know, I don’t think she’s stopped smiling since Tommy proposed.”

“I know,” Felicity agrees. “It’s kind of gross, right?” Oliver arches an eyebrow and Felicity feels her cheeks get hot. “I mean, not _gross_ gross,” she backpedals. “Cute gross, like they’re the most sickeningly adorable couple in the world, with their gorgeousness and their being happy and in love, and I am totally in no way even a little bit jealous, and, hey, feel free to interrupt my babbling anytime...”

Oliver laughs a little at that, but there’s no malice in it. “No, I agree actually. It is a little gross. I can’t believe Tommy’s actually getting married.” He shakes his head and takes a long drink. “Traitor.”

“What, did you guys have some kind of no-marriage pact or something? Swore on a pile of supermodels that you’d stay single and carefree forever?”

“Not forever. But I mean,” he says, shaking his head in dismay. “Tommy’s not even thirty yet.” 

“I know, but maybe it’s different when you find the one. Like why wait, you know? When you meet that person, you probably don’t want to waste any more time.” 

“That...is incredibly sappy, Felicity.”

Felicity laughs. “Yeah, I know. I’m just...I’m really happy for them.”

“Yeah,” Oliver says, in this voice like it’s painful for him to admit it. “Me too.” 

*

Laurel and Tommy get married on a bright, sunny summer afternoon in June with all the pomp and circumstance Laurel’s always dreamed of at her wedding. 

Because she’s the maid of honor and he’s the best man, Felicity and Oliver walk down the aisle together, her arm looped through his, and for all his traitor talk at the engagement party, he can’t seem to stop smiling. 

By the time the ceremony’s over, Felicity’s actually starting to feel something like affection for him, which he manages to ruin less than twenty minutes into the reception when she walks in on him and Joanna, one of Laurel’s other bridesmaids, in the back hallway of the reception venue, his pants undone and his hand up Joanna’s dress. 

“Seriously?” Felicity says, and Oliver smirks even as Joanna gives her an embarrassed smile. 

“Close the door on your way out, would you?” he calls, and Felicity rolls her eyes, stomping away and wondering for the millionth time what on earth Laurel and Tommy see in this guy. 

*

Felicity manages to avoid Oliver for most of the reception, standing as far from him as possible during the pictures and sitting at the opposite end of the table all through dinner. 

It’s not until Laurel and Tommy’s first dance that she lets her guard down enough to not realize Oliver’s right behind her. 

“I need your help,” he says, right in her ear.

Felicity sighs and rolls her eyes. “With what?”

“Dance with me?” Oliver says, and before he even waits for her answer, he’s taking her by the hand and dragging her onto the dance floor.

“How is this me helping you?” Felicity asks, ignoring the way her stomach flips slightly as he rests one hand on her hip.

Oliver nods over her shoulder and then maneuvers them around until she can see Joanna standing on the edge of the dance floor trying to get Oliver’s attention.

“Seriously?” Felicity reaches up and slaps Oliver on the shoulder with the back of her hand. “You’re _already_ avoiding her?”

“She’s being really clingy,” Oliver says. “It’s off-putting.”

“Ugh,” Felicity says, stopping mid-step and pulling away from him. “What is wrong with you?”

“Come on, Felicity,” he says, and he gives her a sideways smile that she’s sure has gotten him out of all kinds of dicey situations. “Besides, the truth of it is, Joanna’s not the bridesmaid I’m actually interested in.”

“Laurel said that you and Sara weren’t a thing anymore, that she’d gotten back together with her girlfriend." She steps closer to him again, his hand landing back on her hip. 

“I’m not talking about Sara either,” Oliver says, leaning down to talk to her in a low voice, his lips brushing her ear, and she's so distracted by the feeling of his breath against her skin that it takes her a couple of seconds to realize what he means.

“Are you seriously hitting on me right now?” she asks, not even bothering to hide her exasperation. 

“Maybe,” Oliver says with that same little sideways smile. He presses his hand lightly against the small of her back, gently guiding her across the dance floor. You know, it’s too bad he’s such a terrible person; he really is kind of charming. “Is it working?”

“Not even a little,” she lies, but she slides her hand up his shoulder again, leaning in so that her cheek is resting against his chest. He’s solid and warm, and she can hear his heart beat. 

“Too bad,” Oliver says, shaking his head with mock-disappointment. “After Sara and Joanna, I was going for the bridesmaid trifecta.”

Ugh. He really is the worst.


	2. Chapter 2

After they get married, Tommy and Laurel move out to the suburbs, into this gorgeous restored Victorian that looks like it’s straight out of a magazine.

Once they get settled into their new place, Laurel calls Felicity and invites her over for dinner. And Tommy invites Oliver. Because, apparently, Felicity is forever destined to be forced into close contact with Oliver Queen.

“Wouldn’t you guys rather have, like, a big housewarming party?” Felicity suggests. She and Laurel are in the kitchen, finishing dinner, while Oliver and Tommy are out in the living room, talking about some big business venture they’re apparently embarking on. “With many different people for me to talk to?” 

“Tommy and I just want a nice, simple dinner with our best friends,” Laurel says, turning off the burner under the pasta. “Besides, I thought you and Ollie were getting along. He said he really liked getting to know you better at the wedding, and you seemed pretty cozy on the dance floor...”

Felicity rolls her eyes. “He was just using me to avoid taking responsibility for his manwhore ways.”

Laurel sighs, grabbing the serving bowl of pasta and heading out of the kitchen. “You know, Joanna is _still_ trying to get Ollie to call her back.”

“Ugh,” Felicity groans. “Why are you and Tommy friends with him again?” 

Laurel just laughs a little in reply, and Felicity grabs the salad bowl and follows her out into the dining room.

*

Dinner starts out all right, mostly since Oliver's only interested in discussing the club that he and Tommy are opening in downtown Starling City, so he's much less obnoxious than usual. Even though neither one of them has ever had an actual job because of the whole heirs-to-enormous-fortunes thing, they both seem like they're going to make a go of it.

For his part, Tommy is focused on investors and marketing and logistics, while Oliver mostly just talks what kind of drinks they should serve and how late they should stay open and whether they should have two V.I.P. sections, or just one.

“So what’s your role in this whole club venture, Oliver?” Felicity finally asks. She's honestly fascinated by the whole idea of Tommy and Oliver getting jobs like real, actual adults. As far as she can tell, neither one of them have worked a day in their lives. 

“Research and Development,” he says with a wry smile.

“Meaning what?” Felicity asks, twirling some linguine around her fork. “That you spend every night partying at a different club?”

He shrugs. “It’s important that we check out the competition."

Felicity rolls her eyes. “I bet. I’m sure it’s super-helpful for you to hook up with random girls and get trashed and pee on cops.”

“I did that was _once_ ,” Oliver protests. “And, besides, I didn’t pee on the cop, I peed on his car.”

Felicity scoffs. “Oh, well. In that case….”

“You know, what, Felicity –” 

“Hey, guys?” Laurel interrupts.

Felicity jumps a little, blinking as she looks away from Oliver. They’re both leaning across the table, close enough that Oliver can probably smell the garlic on her breath, and Felicity forces herself to relax and sit back. “Oh! Yeah. Sorry. We’re sorry. Or, I mean, I’m sorry. I don’t know if Oliver’s sorry. Chances are, he’s probably not, because he’s terrible, but…”

“I'm sorry, too,” Oliver cuts in, glaring at Felicity. “We’re both sorry. But – for the record – Felicity started it.”

Felicity opens her mouth to protest, but then Laurel’s talking over her. “So,” she says. “We actually didn’t just invite you guys over for a housewarming dinner.”

“Oh,” Felicity says, giving Oliver one last glare before turning her attention back to Laurel and Tommy. “What’s up?”

“Uh, well,” Tommy starts, glancing over at Laurel. She gives him a nod and an encouraging smile. Tommy takes a deep breath, but doesn’t say anything else.

“Guys?” Felicity prompts. Across from her, Oliver looks just as confused as she feels.

“Well,” Laurel says, clearing her throat and looking at Tommy again. He reaches out and takes her hand, the two of them smiling a little weirdly at each other. “We’re having a baby."

“Oh my god, Mazel Tov, guys!” Felicity says, launches herself out of her chair, practically tackling Laurel in a hug. Laurel laughs and then Felicity reaches out, hooking her arm around Tommy, pulling him in, too.

“Can I get in on this, too, or what?” Oliver says, and when Felicity looks up at him, he’s beaming. She rolls her eyes, but she’s feeling happy enough that she lets him in on the hug, moving her arm from Tommy to Oliver, drawing him in close, his body pressed against hers, warm and solid. 

*

Tommy calls Felicity at three o’clock in the morning, telling her that Laurel’s water broke, that she’s gone into labor, and they’re on their way to Starling General. Felicity stumbles out of bed, grabbing her glasses and yanking her hair back into a ponytail before throwing a hoodie over her pajamas and running out the door. 

When she gets to the hospital, Tommy’s in the waiting room, his hair standing up in a million directions and a look of sheer panic on his face. 

“Oh thank god you’re here,” he says when he sees her. He wraps her in a hug, and Felicity hugs him back, feeling a surge of panic. 

“Is Laurel okay?”

“Laurel’s fine,” Tommy tells her, pulling back a little. “She told me to come wait out here for you and Ollie to get here. She said I was driving her crazy.”

Felicity laughs, relieved. “And how are you doing?”

“Driving myself crazy,” Tommy sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I thought we’d get here, and they’d wheel her in, and, you know: baby. But it turns out there’s a lot more to it than that.” 

“Go figure,” Felicity says. 

“Okay, so, now that you’re here, I’m going to go annoy my about-to-give-birth wife,” Tommy tells her. 

“Please do,” Felicity says with a little laugh. “Tell her I said hi and also not to murder you before the baby arrives.”

Tommy grins. “Will do. Ollie should be here at some point, and I’ll keep you updated on the whole baby situation.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Felicity smiles as Tommy practically skips out the door. Once he’s gone, she settles into one of the ugly waiting room chairs, sorting through the magazines on the side table as she stifles a yawn. 

*

Oliver doesn’t show up until after 7:00 am, shuffling into the waiting room looking sleepy and hungover. 

“Did I miss it?” Oliver asks, dropping heavily into the chair beside her. He’s a few hours past a five-o’clock shadow, a baseball cap pulled low and his head, and are those _hickeys_ on his neck? Gross. 

“No,” Felicity says shortly, turning back to her magazine. Not that she particularly cares about the intricacies of the latest Kardashian hook-up, but it’s definitely preferable to dealing with Oliver right now.

Oliver groans, leaning back in his chair, the back of his head hitting the wall with a dull thud.

"A little too much research and development last night?" she asks with mock-innocence, looking at her the magazine with a smirk.

He groans again, pulling the brim of his cap down over his eyes, and Felicity smirks. "Just wake me up when something happens.”

“Seriously?” Felicity says. “You’re going to sleep?”

“Yeah,” Oliver mumbles. His cap is still pulled down over his eyes, and he settles back more heavily against the chair, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“I’ve been here for _four hours,_ ” Felicity tells him, but he just shrugs. Felicity glares at him, but he’s still got his eyes closed, so her rage goes unnoticed. 

Ugh, he is infuriating. Felicity’s about to tell him as much, when the waiting room door opens and it’s Tommy, looking dazed and overwhelmed and happier than Felicity’s ever seen him. 

“Is she here?” Felicity asks, and beside her, Oliver straightens, sitting up and pushing his cap back up on his head. 

“She’s here,” Tommy confirms. “She’s here and she’s perfect and I’m a dad.”

Oliver beats Felicity to the hug this time, but just barely, the two of them wrapping their arms around Tommy, all three of them practically giddy with excitement. 

*

Mia Rebecca Merlyn is 7 lbs, 4 oz of adorable baby girl. She’s got bright blue eyes and dark brown hair, and she is the most amazing thing Felicity has ever seen.

“She’s gorgeous,” Felicity coos. She’s holding Mia in her arms, the baby’s face scrunched up in her sleep, her skin wrinkly and pink and new.

Laurel and Tommy are huddled together on the bed, both of them smiling as Felicity cradles the little pink bundle of their daughter in her arms. 

“Yeah, guys. Seriously, she’s a knockout,” Oliver agrees. He reaches out to touch Mia’s curled up fist, and she opens her hand, wrapping her chubby fingers around Oliver’s thumb.

“Look at her tiny little fingernails,” Felicity marvels, and Oliver smiles. 

“We have kind of a huge favor to ask,” Laurel says, looking from Felicity to Oliver with a smile. You know, Felicity’s never really understood the whole “glowing” new mother thing, but Laurel’s sort of legitimately radiant right now.

“Of both of us?” Felicity asks nervously, shifting Mia in her arms. The baby makes a quiet noise, snuffling into her blanket.

Laurel and Tommy exchange a glance, and then Laurel looks back at them with that same beatific smile. “We want you to be Mia’s godparents.”

“Seriously?” Oliver asks. Mia’s still holding onto his thumb, and Felicity notices how big his hands are, his fingers long and strangely elegant.

“Yeah, I mean, you two are our best friends in the world,” Tommy says, and Felicity tears her gaze away from Oliver’s hands. “Who else would we choose?”

“Oh my gosh, of course!” Felicity says immediately. Her face has started to hurt from smiling, but she just can’t seem to stop. “I mean, I can’t speak for Oliver, but I am totally and completely honored.”

“I’m honored, too,” Oliver says, a slight edge to his voice as he glares at her. Felicity ignores him because it’s not like thinking Oliver Queen wouldn’t be up for any kind of major responsibility is a huge stretch. Then he looks over at Tommy, his face softening. “Of course I’ll do it, man. Anything for you guys.” 

“Awesome,” Tommy says, and he looks over at Laurel and Mia. He just looks so, so happy, and Felicity’s just really glad that her friends are getting the kind of life they deserve.

*

“Wow,” Oliver says. They’re leaving the hospital, walking through the parking garage together in the cool early morning darkness.

“This is totally crazy, right?” Felicity says, shaking her head and pulling her coat tighter around her. “I mean, Laurel and Tommy are someone’s _parents._ ”

“And _we’re_ someone’s godparents,” Oliver says, bumping his shoulder against hers. Felicity’s in such a good mood, it doesn’t even annoy her. Instead, she finds it kind of sweet, which is why she bumps him back. “What does that mean, by the way?” he adds.

“Us being godparents?” Felicity says. She shrugs. “I think it means we have to go to the Christening and then spend Mia’s whole life spoiling her rotten and letting her get away with the kind of stuff Laurel and Tommy don’t want her to get away with. We’re like the official cool Aunt and Uncle. We get all of the fun parts, none of the dirty diapers and tantrums.”

“Cool,” Oliver says.

Felicity nods in agreement because, yeah. That about sums it up.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Character death.

Mia’s first birthday is a huge production -- Laurel and Tommy throw a party for her in the expansive, perfectly manicured backyard of their house, and there’s a custom cake and a bounce house and a magician and dozens of guests all of whom bring immaculately wrapped gifts.

They ordered a special mini-cake just for Mia, and she seems to enjoy it, grabbing fistfuls of it with her chubby hands and kind of mashing it towards her face. Only about half of it gets in her mouth, the rest of it ending up smeared on her cheeks and in her hair, making the light brown strands stand up in sticky white spikes. 

Felicity volunteers to get her cleaned up, pulling Mia out of her high chair and carting her into the house while Laurel and Tommy cut pieces of cake for the rest of the guests. 

By some miracle, Mia managed to keep the worst of the damage off her light pink party dress, so Felicity just brings her over to the sink in the kitchen and wipes her face and hands down with a damp cloth. Mia actually tolerates it pretty well, all things considered, and she only manages to get a few smears of watered-down frosting on the front of Felicity's sweater.

Mia's in pretty good shape when Felicity picks her up out of the sink, and rests her on her hip. She's in the process of simultaneously turning around and straightening Mia's skirt when she walks straight into a solid wall of person, Felicity's forehead bumping against a shirt-clad chest.

“Oh my god!” Felicity gasps, jumping a little and taking a quick step back, looking up to see who she just barreled into. It turns out to be a tall and incredibly handsome guy, all sharp cheekbones and great hair.

“Hi, sorry, hi,” the guy says, reaching out and putting a steadying hand on Felicity’s elbow. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you, I was just looking for the bathroom.”

“This is the kitchen,” Felicity says, which is probably unnecessary since there's the fridge and the stove and all kinds of other kitchen-like things, but the guy doesn't seem annoyed at her stating the obvious since he smiles her a little sheepishly. 

“Yeah, I noticed,” he says, and then he looks down at Mia and gives her a little wave. “Well, hey there, birthday girl,” he says, and Mia smiles bashfully, leaning her cheek against Felicity’s shoulder. Felicity doesn’t blame her. The guy is kind of a dreamboat. He laughs, and Mia wriggles happily in Felicity’s arms. 

“Who are you?” Felicity says, and then realizes that maybe that was a little abrupt. 

“Oh, sorry. I’m Ray Palmer,” he says, holding out his hand. “I’m Mia’s pediatrician.”

“Oh! Hi,” Felicity says, bending slightly so she can shake Ray’s hand while still keeping hold of Mia. “I’m Felicity. I’m a friend of Laurel and Tommy’s.”

“Ah,” Ray nods knowingly. “You’re Mia’s godmother.”

“I am,” Felicity says, surprised. “How’d you know that?”

Ray’s smile gets wider. He’s got a nice smile. “Laurel’s mentioned you a few times.”

“Only good things, I hope,” Felicity says, which is basically the most embarrassingly dorky and cliché thing she could have said. 

To his credit, Ray just shrugs. “Just that you’re beautiful and brilliant and that we should meet because – and these are her words, not mine – we are apparently perfect for each other.”

“Oh,” Felicity says, flustered. Ray’s still smiling, and Felicity glances through the kitchen window to where Laurel’s finishing up handing out cake, making a mental to note to kill her best friend when she gets a chance. “Wow, that’s –” she starts, but then Ray’s phone rings, and he holds up one finger as he pulls the phone out of his pocket.

“I’m on call this weekend,” he says by way of explanation, swiping his finger across the screen. “Hello?...No...Yes...No...He put the marble _where_?...Okay, tell her not to try to get it out and not to panic and that I’m on my way.” 

Felicity raises her eyebrows as he hangs up the phone and slips it back into his pocket. “Everything okay?”

“Duty calls. I’ve got to go fish a marble out of a toddler’s left nostril," he says apologetically, and Felicity grimaces in sympathy. “But, hey, if you’re interested in grabbing dinner sometime, Laurel’s got my number.”

“Oh, yeah, okay,” Felicity stammers, and Ray smiles. 

“Happy birthday, kiddo,” he says to Mia, and then he’s walking away, ducking through the french doors and heading out onto the patio, stopping briefly to talk to Laurel and Tommy. Felicity watches him go, Mia fidgeting restlessly in her arms.

“Picking up guys at a one-year-old’s birthday party,” Oliver says from right behind her, his voice close enough to make her jump. “Nice.” 

Felicity turns around, and there’s Oliver, leaning against the wall and smirking at her in that obnoxious way of his. In her arms, Mia giggles, reaching out to Oliver, grasping at him with her chubby little fingers. “I wasn’t picking up guys,” Felicity protests.

“Oh yeah? What about tall, dark, and handsome out there?” he asks, holding out his arms for her to give Mia to him. 

“That’s Mia’s pediatrician,” Felicity says, shrugging in what she hopes is the picture of nonchalance before grudgingly handing over the baby. “He was just coming to say hi to the birthday girl.”

"Yeah, right." Oliver snorts, and Mia laughs, apparently finding this whole exchange particularly amusing. "So, he was telling _Mia_ to ask Laurel for his number, was he?”

“Ugh, were you eavesdropping?” 

“No,” Oliver scoffs. He lifts Mia in the air over his head and then swoops her down again. She laughs, clapping her tiny hands delightedly, so Oliver does it again. Felicity's about to warn him that that's probably not a great idea, considering the amount of cake that Mia just ingested, but she decides that Oliver deserves any puking that comes his way. “It’s not my fault if Dr. Dreamy talks incredibly loud. And incredibly fast. What’s that all about, by the way?”

“He doesn’t talk loud or fast,” Felicity protests, even though Ray actually did talk kind of super-fast. He wasn’t weirdly loud or anything though; Oliver’s just trying to get a rise out of her. “He talks like a normal person.”

Oliver rolls his eyes, and opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but then Tommy and Laurel are there, Tommy with his camera and Laurel’s telling them to smile, and so they do, Felicity and Oliver grinning and Mia between them, laughing.

*

Laurel calls her a couple of nights later, as Felicity’s on her way home from work. It’s raining, just like it has been for the two days, and Felicity tucks the phone between her shoulder and her jaw, keeping both hands on the steering wheel. 

“Why didn’t you ask me for Ray Palmer’s number?” Laurel demands by way of greeting.

"Well, hello to you, too," Felicity says, rolling her eyes and braking a little too hard at a red light. Her car fishtails slightly, and she tightens her grip on the wheel.

“I brought Mia in for her annual check-up, and Dr. Palmer said he’d told you to get his number from me,” Laurel says. Her voice sounds strange, muffled and far away. "Why didn't you tell me this?"

“Where are you?” Felicity asks instead of answering. “You sound all weird and tinny.”

“I’m getting dressed, so I’ve got you on speaker,” Laurel tells her. “Tommy got us reservations at Table Salt tonight, and the sitter was late, so I’ve only got about two minutes to get ready. I’m multi-tasking. And don’t change the subject.”

‘You want me to let you go?” Felicity asks, still trying to change the subject. 

“Absolutely not,” Laurel says. “You are not hanging up the phone until I give you Dr. Palmer’s number.”

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” Felicity says.

“What? Why?”

“Well, first of all, you’re a terrible matchmaker.”

Laurel gasps dramatically, loud enough that Felicity can hear it clearly even over speakerphone. “I am not!”

“I have two words for you, Laurel: Oliver. Queen.”

“Ugh, you’re never going to let me live that down, are you? I’ve apologized for that a million times, Felicity.”

“Even so,” Felicity says. “I’m not sure your judgment is to be trusted, I mean–”

“Laurel?” Tommy calls, his voice sounding flat and distant in her ear. “We’ve got to get going or we’ll lose our reservations.”

“Coming!” Laurel yells back, and then there’s a slight shift and her voice sounds normal again. “Hey, Felicity. Sorry. Dr. Palmer’s number is 555-0978. He’s handsome, he’s a doctor, and he’s the only person I’ve heard talk about computers as much as you do. I’ve got to go, but if you don’t call him, I’ll never forgive you.”

Felicity rolls her eyes. “Have a nice time at dinner. Tell Tommy I say hi.”

“Call Ray,” Laurel orders before hanging up. 

Felicity sighs, but she recites the number silently to herself a few times so she’ll remember it when she has a chance to put it into her phone. Not that she’s going to call him or anything. But...just in case. 

*

Felicity gets the call when she’s in bed, her phone trilling loudly on the nightstand beside her, waking her up from a dead sleep. She fumbles for the phone in the dark, almost knocking her tablet to the floor in the process. 

She can’t make out the number on the caller ID without her glasses, but she presses her thumb against the blurry green spot that she assumes is _Talk_ and mumbles, “Hello?”

“Felicity Smoak?” the person on the phone says. It’s a man with a deep, tired voice, one Felicity doesn’t recognize. 

“Yes,” Felicity says, reaching for her glasses. She puts them on, blinking blearily into the darkness. “Who is this?”

“My name is Officer Ruiz, ma’am. I’m with the Starling City Police Department. I’m calling because your name was listed as the secondary emergency contact for Thomas Merlyn. Do you know Mr. Merlyn?”

“Yes,” Felicity says again, and there’s a sick feeling building in her stomach. If something’s happened to Tommy, why are they calling her instead of Laurel? “Why?”

Officer Ruiz is silent for a couple of seconds before he says, “I regret to inform you, Ms. Smoak, that there’s been an accident.”

“What?” Felicity demands, pushing herself up so that she’s sitting in bed. Her tank top has ridden up around her waist and the metal headboard is cold against the bare skin on her back. “What kind of accident? Is Tommy okay? Where’s Laurel?”

“Ma’am, it would be best if you could come down to the station. Would that be possible?”

“Um, yeah, okay, yes,” Felicity babbles. She’s already out of bed, pulling on a sweatshirt over her head and grabbing a pair of jeans out of her hamper. She stumbles when she tries to put them on, holding the phone in the crook of her neck and leaning against her dresser. “I’m on my way now, I’ll be there as soon as I can.” 

She hangs up the phone before the officer can respond, grabbing her car keys and slipping her feet into her rain boots before running out the door. 

*

Even though it’s only a couple of miles from her apartment, the drive to the police station seems to take forever. It’s still raining, the streets slick and dark and empty.

She calls Oliver on the way over, her hands shaking so badly that it takes her three tries to press his name on her contacts list. When she finally manages to make the call, it rings and rings and rings before going to voicemail. 

“Oliver,” Felicity says, and her voice sounds strange to her ears, kind of high pitched and hysterical. She clears her throat and takes a deep breath. “Hi. Hey. It’s Felicity. Um, I, uh, I got a call about Tommy. And Laurel, I think. I mean, the police officer didn’t say anything about Laurel really, I guess because he was calling about Tommy. Because apparently I’m Tommy’s emergency contact?” Felicity’s rambling, she knows she is, but she’s not sure how she’s going to hold it together if she has to make this drive in silence, so she keeps babbling into her phone. “And that’s weird, right? I mean, if anyone should be Tommy’s emergency contact it should be you. You’re his best friend. Although, maybe that’s just one of the many benefits of complete and utter irresponsibility; when something terrible happens, you don’t get the middle of the night phone call telling you something’s wrong. Although, maybe that’s not true, since _this_ is that middle of the night phone call, and I’m sorry, Oliver, I didn’t mean to call you irresponsible. That was mean. I just...I’m on my way to the police station now. The one downtown, on 5th or 4th or something like that. And I don’t know what to do.” She stops, and tries to take a deep breath. “Just, please call me when you get this, Oliver. Please.” 

She hangs up the phone as she pulls into the parking lot, gripping the steering wheel hard, trying to get her hands to stop trembling. 

Inside the police station, it’s mostly empty, just a woman in uniform manning the front desk and a teenager sitting sullenly over by the booking area. 

“I’m looking for Officer Ruiz,” Felicity blurts out, and the woman looks up at her tiredly. “He called me and told me I needed to come down here. To the station. Not that I’m a criminal,” Felicity babbles, and it’s like she can’t stop herself, can’t seem to make the words stop coming. Her hands are still trembling, and she’s dripping rain onto the faded linoleum floor. “Because I’m not. But Officer Ruiz, he called, and he said my friends...that they’re...he said –”

“Ms. Smoak?” someone says, and when Felicity turns there’s a uniformed officer standing in the hall, giving her a sympathetic smile. “I’m Officer Ruiz. Thank you for coming down.”

Felicity just nods, swallowing hard as she walks over to him. “You said there was an accident…?”

The officer nods, glancing at the woman at the desk before turning back to Felicity. “I’m very sorry,” he says, and from the tone of his voice, he doesn’t need to say anything else.

“What happened?” she manages to say, talking past the burning knot that's lodged in her throat.

“As far as we can tell, their car hit a slick patch of road and they lost control. The vehicle rolled over, off the highway, before going over an embankment.” 

Oh god, oh god. “And they’re…?” Felicity trails off, not able to actually say it. There’s a heavy, tight feeling in her chest, and it hurts every time she tries to take a breath.

“I’m very sorry,” Office Ruiz says again, and Felicity closes her eyes, hot tears streaming down her cheeks. “We were able to contact Laurel’s parents; they’re at the hospital now, taking care of the arrangements. But there is the matter of the child, which is why we called you.”

“Oh my god!” Felicity gasps. She feels like she can’t breathe, her vision going dark around the edges. “Mia! Was she...is she…?”

“She’s fine,” Officer Ruiz reassures her quickly. “She wasn’t in the vehicle, she was at home, in the care of a minor, a neighbor who was babysitting.”

“And where is she now?” Felicity demands, blinking back her tears and forcing herself to focus. Mia's probably alone and scared and Felicity needs to do something, needs to take action, needs to have some purpose despite the fact that nothing makes any sort of sense at all right now.

“She’s in the care Child Protective Services,” he tells her. “It’s standard procedure in cases like this.”

“Cases like this?” Felicity echoes, confused.

Officer Ruiz swallows hard, glancing down at the floor before looking back up at her. He’s very young, Felicity realizes. Probably not much older than her. “Orphaned children.”

 _Orphaned children._ Oh god. Mia’s an orphan. Laurel and Tommy are dead. Felicity takes a deep breath, trying to think rationally. This can’t really be happening.

“You’ll be able to see her in the morning,” Ruiz tells her, and Felicity just blinks at him. He takes a step toward her, reaching out to touch her gently shoulder. His hand is big and warm. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”

Felicity nods dully, leaning against the wall silently as Officer Ruiz gives her shoulder a final squeeze. His shoes click loudly against the linoleum floor and Felicity’s best friends in the world are dead. 

She’s not sure how long she stands there, staring blankly ahead of her, before Oliver shows up. “Felicity?” he says, and he doesn’t sound like himself, his voice quiet and gentle. 

When she glances up at him, he’s standing a couple of feet from her, a motorcycle helmet dangling from one hand. He’s wet from the rain, his hair plastered to his face and water dripping from off his leather jacket and pooling at his feet. She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out, and Oliver’s face falls.

“Felicity?” he says again, and the way his voice cracks makes it all hit her again, and suddenly she’s sobbing, the reality of the situation fully crashing down on her. 

Her knees start to buckle and she can’t catch her breath, the sobs wracking her body, but then Oliver’s there, solid and strong, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close, one hand cupping the back of her head, warm and strong. Felicity presses her face against his chest, clutching desperately at his back, letting herself break down for the first time. 

Oliver holds onto her tightly, his cheek pressed to the top of her head, and she can feel his breath, hot and shuddering against her still-damp hair, and she has no idea what they’re supposed to do now.


	4. Chapter 4

Felicity’s not sure how long she and Oliver stand there like that, clutching each other in the empty hallway of the Starling City Police Department, but eventually she starts feeling slightly claustrophobic and she pulls away a little reluctantly. Her breath is still coming in short stuttering sobs, and she wipes the tears from her face and takes a couple of deep breaths, trying to get it together.

“Where’s Mia?” Oliver asks. His voice comes out rough and shaky, and he clears his throat, blinking hard.

“She’s with Child Protective Services,” Felicity tells him, smoothing a still-trembling hand over the top of her ponytail. “I guess there was a neighbor babysitting her, and after…” she swallows hard and takes another deep breath, staring at Oliver’s chest and forcing herself to get the words out, not to break. “The police sent CPS over to get her. Officer Ruiz said we should be able to see her in the morning, but I don’t know if that means we can take her home or we can just visit her, but she can’t stay there, Oliver. She’s probably terrified right now, and she should be with people who care about her, not a bunch of social workers, and I don’t know what to do…”

“Hey,” Oliver cuts her off, reaching out and putting his hands on her gently shoulders.

It’s enough to steady her, and she takes another breath before looking up at him. His eyes are red-rimmed, and it’s such a bizarre sight, Oliver Queen crying and exhausted and trying to take care of her. Maybe Laurel and Tommy weren’t so wrong about him after all. 

“It’s okay,” he tells her, talking slow and calm. “I’m going to make a couple of phone calls, okay? I want you to wait right here for me while I try to figure out what’s going on with Mia, all right?”

“Okay,” Felicity agrees, mostly because she doesn’t know what else she can do. It’s like she’s not thinking clearly; all of this still feels like some kind of terrible dream, horrifying and unreal. “Just...I don’t want her to have to spend the night with strangers.”

“I don’t either,” Oliver assures her. He slides one arm around her shoulders and Felicity leans into him without quite meaning to. It’s just that he’s solid and warm and familiar and she feels strangely safe with him beside her. He directs her to a little bank of chairs in the hallway, and she sits while he takes a few steps down the hall.

Felicity watches as he pulls out his phone and holds it up to his ear. She has no idea who he’s calling, but he starts talking immediately. Felicity’s too far away to hear any of the conversation no matter how much she tries, which is incredibly frustrating. She’s not used to just sitting around and letting other people do things. She gets antsy after just a couple of minutes, so she pulls out her phone, deciding that if Oliver can take action, then so can she. It can’t be that hard to hack her way into the city’s network, and from there it should be a piece of cake to get into CPS and find Mia’s file.

Before too long, she gets lost in her search -- hacking by phone always makes things a little more complicated -- but she manages to get through the security systems for Social Services and into the CPS database. Once she manages that, she has to navigate her way through the labyrinthine system of city bureaucracy, which basically means that everything is about ten times more difficult to locate than it should be. But at least it gives her something to do, something to focus on besides the nightmare of everything that’s happened tonight.

“Felicity,” Oliver says, and Felicity starts, jumping a little in her seat, blinking up at him. He looks more tired than she’s ever seen him, red-rimmed eyes and dark circles under his eyes like bruises.

“Mia was brought to the Starling City CPS office on Halstrom and Branch by SCPD officers,” Felicity tells him, reading off the intake form she’s got on her phone. “She arrived at 12:02 a.m. and is scheduled to meet with social workers tomorrow – or today, I guess – at 10:00 a.m. Her next of kin are listed as Quentin and Dinah Lance, but there’s an asterisk by their names in the file, which means that they’re not her designated guardians. That must be a mistake since I can’t imagine Laurel and Tommy choosing anyone else, but we can work that out later. As far as I can tell…”

“Felicity,” Oliver interrupts, and Felicity snaps her head up to look at him again. He’s watching her with this curious almost-smile, his mouth curled up at the corners. “Mia’s on her way.”

“She’s on her way?” Felicity repeats. “How? What? How?”

Oliver’s almost-smile turns into a full smile, and a little bit of the tightness in Felicity’s chest eases. “I called my father, who called his lawyer, who called Social Services. We’ll be able to take Mia home tonight.”

Felicity doesn’t even think about it when she launches herself out of her chair, throwing her arms around Oliver and hugging him. He makes a little noise of surprise, but then he hugs her back, pressing his face against the curve of her neck, his breath puffing hot against her skin.

*

Felicity’s dozing off by the time CPS shows up, her elbow pressed against the rough wooden armrest of the waiting room chairs and her head leaning on Oliver’s shoulder.

But then he shrugs to get her attention, and when Felicity looks up, two women are walking towards them, one of them a forty-something with short blond hair in a chic suit, and the other a frazzled looking middle-aged woman with dark circles under her eyes. The frazzled woman is holding Mia in one arm and an empty baby car seat in the other.

Mia looks sleepy and dazed and when she sees Felicity and Oliver, she blinks and then suddenly she’s crying, these desperate, hysterical sobs.

“Hey,” Felicity says, reaching for her. The tired-looking woman hands her over and Mia clings to Felicity’s side, snuffling wetly against her shoulder. “Hey, baby, you’re okay,” Felicity tells her, holding her close and pressing a kiss to the crown of Mia’s head, inhaling her sweet, familiar baby-scent. “We’re here, we’ve got you.”

“Jean,” Oliver says, stepping forward to shake the blond woman’s hand. “Thank you for your help with this.”

“Of course,” the woman – Jean – says. “I’ve called George Bennett – Tommy and Laurel’s attorney – and he’d like to meet with you both tomorrow at noon to discuss custody of Mia as well as some particulars of Tommy and Laurel’s estate, if that’s all right?”

Oliver looks over at Felicity with his eyebrows raised, and she nods, holding Mia to her tight. “That would be fine,” he says.

“I’ll let him know,” Jean says with a nod, before gesturing towards the woman who brought in Mia. “Now, there are a few forms you’ll need to sign before we can have Mia’s custody transferred to you.”

The woman from Social Services puts down the car seat and pulls a folded packet of stapled-together papers from her bag, smoothing them out as best she can.

“I’ll need both of your signatures,” she says tiredly, passing the papers to Oliver and fumbling in her bag again until she pulls out a pen. “You’ll be permitted to take the child with you tonight, during which time you’ll both be assigned as her temporary legal guardians. It would be best for her if you could take her to her own home, or at least a familiar place, something to disrupt her routine as little as possible. Once we have a better understanding of the will and the estate and her parents’ wishes, a court date will be set to determine permanent guardianship.”

“Okay,” Felicity agrees immediately. “Laurel gave me a spare key, so we can bring Mia to her own house, keep everything as familiar as possible.” She looks over at Oliver for confirmation, and he nods, looking almost as relieved as she feels. “Just tell us where we need to sign.”

The woman points to a few lines on the bottom of each page, watching as Oliver and Felicity both sign their names. When they’re done, the woman re-folds the papers and drops them back in the bag with a sigh. “Someone from my office will contact you about setting a court date,” she tells them, and then she turns away and walks back down the hall.

“That’s it?” Felicity asks, looking at Oliver then at Jean. “We can take her home now?”

“You can take her home now,” Jean confirms, and Felicity’s so grateful she could hug her.

*

Getting temporary legal custody of Mia was frighteningly easy, but getting her safely into the car is a completely different story.

“This is your car?” Oliver asks when Felicity stops in front of her Mini, putting the empty car seat down so she can use her non-Mia holding hand to find her keys. It’s finally stopped raining, the air heavy with the smell of ozone and wet asphalt, and Mia’s asleep in arms, a warm, familiar weight against her side.

“Yep,” Felicity says, and when she looks over at Oliver, he’s staring at the car with a slightly skeptical expression. She presses the button on the fob, the doors unlocking with a soft beep. “What?”

Oliver shakes his head, blowing out a heavy sigh and looking slightly longingly at his motorcycle parked up near the edge of the building. “Nothing,” he says. “Let’s get Mia’s car seat in the back.”

Okay, so it turns out that getting a baby seat buckled into a car correctly is a lot harder than it sounds. Oliver struggles with it for a while, Felicity holding a sleeping Mia while Oliver wedges himself into her backseat, fumbling with the seat and letting out the occasional curse.

“Let me try,” Felicity finally tells him, and he must be frustrated because he doesn’t even argue with her, just steps back and holds out his hands for Mia. Felicity passes her over, trying not to smirk as she does. She must not pull it off because Oliver glares at her as he takes Mia, the baby making a sleepy noise of protest as she gets handed over.

Felicity’s sure she’ll be able to get the baby seat strapped into the car, no problem, but it’s apparently impossible. She tries for a good fifteen minutes, managing to get one side strapped in fine only to find the other side is way too loose. Finally, she just gives up.

“Augh.” Felicity throws her hands up in exasperation, standing up and stepping away from the car. “What the hell?”

When she looks over at Oliver, he’s smirking at her in that familiar way of his and Mia’s woken up, her thumb in her mouth and her cheek pressed against Oliver’s shoulder as she watches Felicity sleepily. “Problem?” he asks with faux-innocence and, ugh, he is the worst.

“Maybe if we put Mia in the seat, and we each take a side, it won’t be so difficult,” Felicity suggests, her voice cracking slightly on the last word. She can feel tears starting to build behind her eyes, that tight knot forming in her throat again. She’s just tired and frustrated and this has quite possibly been the longest night of her life.

Oliver must realize she’s not in the mood for banter, because he stops smirking pretty much right away, and leans down to put Mia gently into the car seat.

Felicity was right, it’s a little easier with both of them working together, but it still takes longer than it probably should for them to get the seat in correctly, making sure it’s secure enough so that Mia will be okay in the event anything else terrible happens tonight.

The drive from the station to Laurel and Tommy’s house in the suburbs passes in silence, Mia sleeping in the back while Oliver sits awkwardly in the passenger seat, his body scrunched up so that he can actually fit. 

Felicity’s never actually noticed how big of a guy Oliver is, tall and broad-shouldered. He also smells really nice, like leather and whatever aftershave he wears, something light and sort of woodsy. To be honest, it’s a more than a little distracting.

*

By the time they finally get to the house and get Mia out of her car seat, it’s dawn, the sky turning from black to grey to pink, and Felicity is more exhausted than she can ever remember being her life.

Oliver and Felicity bring Mia up to her bedroom, Oliver laying her in her crib while Felicity pulls the curtains closed, blocking out the early morning sun. Thankfully, Mia's sleeping soundly, barely even moving when Oliver puts her down. He stands at the crib, watching her quietly for a couple of seconds, blinking hard.

“We should get some sleep,” Felicity says, and Oliver just nods in agreement. Felicity takes the guest room right next to the nursery and Oliver ends up two doors down, both of them shuffling tiredly into the room with just a mumbled goodnight.

Felicity toes off her shoes and then collapses onto the bed, not even bothering to get under the covers. She’s as tired as she can ever remember being, and she falls into a deep, dreamless sleep, trying as hard as she can not to think about anything that’s happened over the last six hours.

*

When she wakes up, there’s bright, early afternoon sunlight streaming into the room and a pink stuffed bunny pressed against her face, one glassy plastic black eye staring into Felicity’s own. 

“The lawyer’s here,” Oliver says from somewhere beside her, and Felicity reaches up to swipe the bunny away from her face. When she does, Mia giggles, and Felicity blinks blearily against the light.

“Huh?” she says blearily, squinting up at Oliver. He’s holding Mia in his arms, both of them peering down at Felicity as she tries to get her bearings.

“George Bennett – Laurel and Tommy’s lawyer – he’s here. He’s waiting for us downstairs.”

“Ugh,” Felicity groans, pushing herself up into a sitting position. She picks up the pink bunny and Mia laughs again, holding out her hands and grabbing for the toy. “Why didn’t you wake me up earlier?”

“I tried,” Oliver tells her as Felicity gives Mia the bunny. “You were dead to the world. Besides, I figured you could use the sleep.”

“Okay,” Felicity says, scrubbing a hand across her face as she yawns hugely. “Okay. I’m awake. I’m up.”

She stumbles out of bed, putting on her glasses and trying to will herself to wake up. She's halfway out the door when she feels Oliver tug gently at her ponytail, his fingers sliding through her hair. the feeling makes stomach flips pleasantly, which is completely ridiculous. “What?” she says, a little sharper than she means to.

“You might want to take a quick look in the mirror,” he says, smirking what she’s come to think of as his trademark Oliver Queen smirk.

“What? Why?” Felicity demands, but even as she says it, she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror in the hall and, yikes. Her hair is standing up in about a million directions, her ponytail skewed off to one side. “Oh. Wow.”

She reaches up, trying to let out her ponytail, but the elastic gets snagged, tangling in her hair and making her wince as she tries to unsnarl it.

“Here,” Oliver says, and then he’s setting Mia down at his feet and reaching behind Felicity to help her with her hair. His fingers move deftly as he works the elastic out of her hair, and when his fingertips brush hers, Felicity freezes, her stomach doing that embarrassing flipping thing again. 

It’s only a couple of seconds before he manages to get the hair tie out, handing it to Felicity, his fingers warm against the palm of her hand. 

“Thanks,” she says, but her voice comes out a little strange, quiet and breathy and when Oliver raises his eyebrow at her, Felicity feels herself blush, her cheeks burning. He’s fingers are still resting against her palm.

“No problem,” he says, his gaze flicking down to her mouth. Oliver takes a step closer to her, and Felicity’s stomach suddenly feels like it’s full of butterflies.

He’s still looking at her mouth, and Felicity takes a step toward him, moving closer to him like she can’t help it, her brain still feeling a little fuzzy from sleep. She bites her lip, watching him watch her, her heart beating way too fast in her chest as he moves another step closer, and she has no idea what she’s doing, but she can’t seem to stop.

Or at least, she can’t until Mia grabs onto the leg of her pants, pulling herself up between them.

Felicity blinks, looking away from Oliver and down at Mia. She’s got one hand on Felicity’s knee, the other on Oliver’s shin, peering up at the two of them curiously. 

“Hi,” Mia says, simple and direct, and Felicity feels a bubble of laughter building inside of her, slightly hysterical. What the hell is she doing? 

“Hi, baby,” Felicity says, and when she looks back up at Oliver, he’s shifted his focus down to Mia, smiling as he reaches down to pick her up again. 

“Hey, kid,” he says, settling her on his hip and if the sight of Oliver with an adorable baby settled easily on his hip makes her stomach start buzzing again, well, she’s just very tired and it’s been a very long day. 

“Ready?” he says, glancing back at Felicity and she nods, reaching up to pull her hair back into a ponytail, making sure it’s smooth and straight, focusing all her attention on that. 

She follows Oliver down the stairs, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes and trying not to think too much about that moment of weirdness that just happened between them.

When they get downstairs, there’s a middle-aged man in a suit sitting at the table in the formal dining room, a briefcase open in front of him. “Miss Smoak,” he says, getting to his feet and reaching out to shake her hand. “I’m George Bennett, Tommy and Laurel’s attorney."

“Mr. Bennett,” Felicity says, shaking his hand and sitting down across the table from him. Oliver sits beside her, holding Mia in his lap. She’s sucking on the ear of the stuffed bunny, humming happily to herself. “Hi. Sorry I’m late.”

“Not at all,” he says easily, pulling out a stack of papers from his briefcase. “I’m sure you had a rather difficult night. As you know, I spoke to Ms. Loring last night, and she filled me in on the situation.”

“Ms. Loring?” Felicity says, looking at Oliver, confused.

“Jean,” he says by way of explanation, and Felicity nods, trying to stifle a yawn. She still feels a little out of sorts, not quite awake.

“The good news is that Tommy and Laurel did leave a will, with rather specific instructions for both Mia and their estate,” Bennett says, sliding the stack of papers over to them. “As I’m sure you’re aware, you’ve both been named as Mia’s legal guardians. The bulk of their estate – including this house – will go to her, of course, with the majority of it being held in trust until her 18th birthday. As her guardians, you will be in charge of this trust, which should be used for her education as well as –”

“Wait,” Felicity interrupts, trying to process all of this. When she glances over at Oliver, he looks just as confused as she feels. “What do you mean, we’re Mia’s legal guardians? That’s not...I mean, that can’t...I mean... _what_?”

“You and Mr. Queen are listed as Mia’s guardians in the event that anything happened to Tommy and Laurel,” Bennett says, raising his eyebrows and glancing between the two of them. ‘Were you not aware of this?”

“No,” Oliver says immediately, pulling the papers closer to him and flipping through them. Mia slaps her hand against them, and Oliver slides them out of reach, managing to get them over to Felicity with minimal baby spit damage. “We had no idea.” 

“Yeah, no,” she says, taking the papers from Oliver. Mia reaches for them again, but Felicity’s faster, and Mia makes an outraged noise of protest, slapping the table again. Oliver stands up, bouncing her softly as he brings her over to the playpen that’s set up in the corner. “I had no idea,” Felicity continues. "I just, I thought Laurel’s parents would take Mia. I didn’t think...are you sure?”

“Quite sure,” Bennett says. “They came to my office a few months ago to update their will, which is when you were both listed as Mia’s guardians. Laurel and Tommy had mentioned you’d agreed to be her godparents, so I just assumed…” he trails off, looking at them both expectantly.

“Yeah, we’re her godparents.” Oliver sets Mia down in the playpen and she stomps her feet, apparently displeased at the thought of being left out of the action. 

When no one comes to her rescue, she throws her stuffed bunny in protest, wailing when the toy lands a good five feet outside the playpen. She starts sobbing immediately, and Oliver turns around to pick up the bunny, handing it back to Mia. As soon he he does, she throws it again, grabbing onto the edge of the playpen and shaking the rail like she’s in prison. Oliver leaves the bunny on the floor and heads back to the table, apparently not in the mood to engage in a battle of wills with a toddler.

“But that doesn’t mean we inherit her or whatever,” he says, talking louder so he can be heard over Mia’s cries. “We’re just like the cool uncle and aunt. We spoil her and let her get away with things, we don’t suddenly become her parents, right?” He looks desperately over at Felicity as he says this last part, and Felicity presses the heel of her hand against her forehead.

Shit. “Well, actually, this is kind of part of it, too sometimes, I think,” Felicity tells him.

“What?” Oliver demands, his voice rising enough that it’s almost a shout. In response, Mia’s ramps up her volume, working herself into a full-blown tantrum. “You knew about this?"

“No, I didn’t know about this,” Felicity snaps. “But I’ve heard of it, godparents taking over if something happens to the parents. Everyone knows that."

“I didn’t know that!” Oliver practically explodes, loud enough that Mia suddenly quiets down, staring at him with wide, scared eyes. Across the table, Bennett is busying himself with another stack of papers, studiously ignoring the drama unfolding in front of him. 

Felicity doesn’t say anything, and in the silence, Oliver sighs, leaning his elbows on the table dragging his hands through his hair. “What are our options here?” he says, and Bennett must realize he’s talking to him because he looks up from the table. 

“If you and Miss Smoak decide to refuse custody, Mia will be returned to Child Protective Services until she can be placed with a foster family or a suitable guardian can be found."

“And how long would that take?” Felicity asks, keeping her voice level and calm and totally unemotional. 

“Unfortunately, that’s not something we can know right now,” Bennett tells her. "It could be weeks, it could be months. Or, worst case scenario, it could take years."

 _Years?_ No way. There’s no way Felicity’s letting that happen. “What if we found a guardian for her?” she asks, her brain racing through various scenarios, trying to formulate a solution. "Like, what if Laurel’s parents want to take custody? Could she stay with us just until then?"

“That could certainly be arranged,” Bennett says, looking through the paperwork again with more purpose and writing something down on one of the sheets. “You have a permanent guardianship hearing scheduled for two weeks from Wednesday, so if you and Lances determine that’s what you’d like to do, we could use that hearing to begin the process of transferring custody then. But, I do need to warn you that it wouldn’t be a guarantee that they’d be approved as guardians. They’ll need to undergo a series of screenings and interviews to make sure they’d provide Mia with a stable home environment. You and Mr. Queen will undergo the same process if you decide to keep the child."

“That won’t be a problem,” Felicity says, relieved. It’s not that she doesn’t love Mia, because she absolutely and totally does, but she’s just not sure she’s ready to be a parent. And she’s definitely not ready to be a parent with Oliver Queen. Besides, it’ll be better for Mia to be with family, right? And, okay, maybe there was a reason Laurel and Tommy picked her and Oliver instead of the Lances, but that was probably just a mistake. “Quentin and Dinah are the most stable people I know. Definitely more stable than the two of us."

“Well, as I said, you’ll need to discuss this issue with the Lances, and we can go from there.” Bennett puts the papers back into his briefcase, clicking it closed and then getting to his feet. Felicity and Oliver follow suit, both of them shaking his hand. Oliver walks him to the door, and Felicity heads over to where Mia’s still clutching the edge of the playpen, watching her with big blue eyes.

“Don’t worry, kiddo,” Felicity tells her, reaching down to smooth a hand over the top of her head. “We’ll figure this out.” 

"Out?" Mia repeats, holding her arms up.

Felicity smiles and picks her up, freeing Mia from her playpen-prison and watching as she walks her stumbling-baby walk over to where that damn stuffed bunny is still lying face-down on the floor, wondering again what the hell Laurel and Tommy were thinking, leaving their daughter to her and Oliver, thinking that this could be anything other than a disaster.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the extra-long hiatus on this story! Many thanks to anyone who’s still reading. Hope you enjoy :-)

The day of the funeral is a blur. Oliver made most of the arrangements, his years of planning parties coming in surprisingly handy for organizing the service and the reception. 

Felicity takes care of Mia while Oliver shakes hands and mingles solemnly, deftly handling all of the social interactions Felicity just doesn’t have the energy for right now. 

Mia seems to sense the mood because she’s on her best behavior, sitting quietly in Felicity’s arms in the front row of the church. Apparently, there’s not a big market for baby funeral clothes, so Felicity decided on a navy blue dress dotted with white flowers for Mia, figuring that it was somber enough for the occasion. 

Sara arrives just before the service starts, holding the hand of a pretty, dark-haired woman who she introduces as Nyssa. The two of them sit beside Dinah and Quentin, Sara’s face pale and drawn and her knuckles white from how hard she holds onto Nyssa’s hand. Nyssa stares stoically ahead throughout the service, but she runs her thumb gently over the back of Sara’s knuckles, and when Sara starts to cry, Nyssa slides her arm across Sara’s shoulders, stroking the hair back gently from Sara’s face.

At first, only Oliver’s parents and his sister sit in the row reserved for Tommy’s family, but then, halfway through the service, Tommy’s father shows up, sliding into the pew next to Oliver’s parents. His face is blank, his eyes dry, and he glances over at Mia, staring at her for a couple of beats, his expression not changing, and Felicity hugs Mia to her a little more closely. 

*

After they leave the cemetery, everyone goes back to Laurel and Tommy’s house for the post-funeral reception, the line of black cars cutting a dark slash across the picture perfect tree-lined street. 

Felicity busies herself in the kitchen, keeping an eye on Mia and accepting the covered dishes that people keep handing to her, stacking them dutifully in the fridge until she runs out of room and then just takes to lining them up on the counter. Oliver’s busy making the rounds of mourners, something that Felicity’s insanely grateful for. Small talk has never been her strong point, but Oliver’s a natural, moving through the crowds with ease and grace.

Eventually the food stops rolling in and there’s not much else to do in the kitchen, so Felicity steels herself and heads out to the main part of the house, carrying Mia with her. Almost immediately, Dinah’s there, smiling at Mia and scooping her into her arms. “Hello, darling,” she coos. Her voice is hoarse from crying and she’s got mascara smeared under her eyes. 

Mia smiles, reaching out to pat Dinah on the cheek. “Hi,” she says, in her bright baby voice, and Dinah makes a strangled noise, halfway between a sob and a laugh.

“How are you doing, Mrs. Lance?” Felicity asks gently. 

“I’m surviving,” Dinah says shakily, heading over to sit with Mia on the couch over by the big window in the living room. Felicity follows her, catching a glimpse of Quentin and Sara in the dining room, Laurel’s dad swaying slightly as Sara leads him over to one of the chairs at the table. He sits down heavily, some of the amber liquid in the glass he’s holding sloshing onto the white linen table cloth. Nyssa’s standing in the corner, watching the whole exchange with a hard expression. 

“I wanted to thank you, Felicity,” Dinah says, and Felicity sits down on the couch across from Dinah, turning her attention back to Laurel’s mother. “You and Oliver. What you’ve done for Mia...I can’t possibly thank you enough.”

“Oh,” Felicity says, shifting uncomfortably on the couch. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that. Well, Oliver and I both did, but since he’s not here -- I mean, he's here, just not _here_ here…” she trails off, taking a deep breath and trying to get the ramble under control.

Dinah looks like she's not paying attention, all of her focus on Mia, smiling softly at her, bouncing her up and down in her lap until Mia giggles, clapping her chubby little hands together. 

Felicity clears her throat, deciding to just come out with it. “We thought you and Mr. Lance might want full custody.”

Dinah’s gaze snaps up to Felicity, her eyes wide. “Oh,” she says, and she looks panicked, not like she’s thrilled to be offered custody of her granddaughter. “Oh.”

“What’s wrong?” Felicity thought this conversation might be kind of awkward, but she never thought the Lances wouldn’t want custody. Mia’s their granddaughter and they adore her and it doesn’t make sense that they wouldn’t jump at the chance to have her now that Laurel’s gone.

“I’d assumed Laurel had told you, before...” Dinah starts, her voice breaking. She blinks, and two fat tears roll down her cheeks.

“Told me what?”

“Quentin and I are separated,” Dinah says, and Felicity’s stomach drops. “I’m moving to Central City next week.”

“I don’t understand.” Felicity glances across the room at where Oliver’s talking to his little sister, Thea sniffling and dabbing at her eyes with a tissue as Oliver wraps her in a hug.

“It’s been coming for a while,” Dinah says, and Felicity turns back at her. “I’ve been offered a job at the university there, and between that opportunity and Quentin’s drinking…” Dinah sighs, shaking her head sadly. “He’d promised he would stop, that he’d try rehab again, but after this…” Dinah sighs again. “I’m sorry, Felicity. I thought you knew.”

“No,” Felicity says, feeling dazed. “Laurel never said anything.” She can’t believe she didn’t know any of this. Not that she and Laurel spent a ton of time talking about their parents, but her dad drinking again? Her parents separating and her mom moving hundreds of miles away? How could Laurel have not told her? Well, at least it explains why they left custody to Felicity and Oliver instead of Laurel’s parents.

“I’m sorry,” Dinah says again. In her arms, Mia’s starting to get fussy, and Dinah leans over to set her down. Mia stands unsteadily in her patent leather dress shoes before she plops down on the floor, giggling when her butt hits the floor. “You know I love Mia more than the world, but she needs more stability than I can give her right now. Which is why I’m so grateful to you and Oliver. And you know if there’s anything either one of you need, you can always come to me. Or to Quentin, once he gets himself straightened out.”

Felicity just nods, looking down as Mia pushes herself back to her feet, taking a couple of toddling steps until she falls against Felicity’s legs, patting her tiny palms on Felicity’s knees. Felicity smiles at her, trying to ignore the sick feeling in her stomach as she reaches out to straighten out Mia’s dress. It’s got twisted around, the skirt gotten all askew, and Dinah’s moving to Central City and Quentin is too sad to get sober, and Felicity has no idea what she’s going to do now. 

*

“So what are we going to do?” Oliver asks when she tells him about the conversation with Dinah. 

The reception’s over, everyone gone except them, all alone in Laurel and Tommy’s perfect restored house, the two of them sitting side by side on the sofa, feet kicked up on the coffee table. Mia’s napping in her bedroom upstairs, thank god; she’s a great kid, but it’s really, really exhausting being responsible for another human twenty-four hours a day. Felicity’s feet are killing her after spending a day wearing three inch heels and carting around a baby, and she doesn’t want to have this conversation right now. Or ever, really. 

“I have no idea,” Felicity admits. It’s all she’s thought about it since her conversation with Dinah, trying to come up with another solution to their problem, but coming up blank. “Did you get a chance to talk to Sara?”

Oliver nods. “She and Nyssa are heading back to Tibet tomorrow.” He sighs, scrubbing a hand across his face, his fingers rasping against the stubble on his cheeks. “Their tickets are already booked.”

Felicity sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “What about Tommy’s dad?” she suggests reluctantly. She didn’t get much of a chance to talk to Malcolm Merlyn during the reception, but he seemed weirdly cold. To be perfectly honest, he kind of creeped her out, but he seemed pretty buddy-buddy with Oliver’s parents, so maybe he’s not too bad. “I know he and Tommy weren’t particularly close, but–”

“No,” Oliver cuts her off, sounding more serious than Felicity’s ever heard him sound. “Malcolm Merlyn is not taking Mia.”

“Okay,” Felicity says, slowly, deciding now isn’t the time to ask for details about Tommy’s tragic childhood. “Any other suggestions?”

They’re both quiet for a while, the only sound the low hum of Mia’s baby monitor on the coffee table in front of them. “We could take her to the manor,” Oliver suggests. “Raisa can help us with her.” 

“The manor?” Felicity asks, incredulous.

Oliver rolls his eyes. “My family’s house.”

“Right,” Felicity says, shaking her head in disbelief. Of course Oliver Queen grew up in manor, instead of in a house like a normal person. “And who is Raisa?” 

“She works for my family," Oliver shrugs. “She pretty much raised me and my sister.”

“So she was, like, your governess or something?” Felicity asks. “I mean, is that a thing? Do people even have governesses? I thought those were just for, like, 19th century children whose mothers didn’t care about them. Not that I’m implying your mother didn’t care about you, but –”

“Raisa wasn’t my governess,” Oliver interrupts, sounding annoyed. “She’s more like a housekeeper.” 

“You’re joking, right?” Felicity scoffs. “Tommy and Laurel didn’t want your maid to raise Mia. They wanted us to raise her.” 

“Well, I don’t know about you, Felicity, but I have no idea how to raise a kid,” Oliver snaps, sitting up and swinging his feet off the coffee table. He leans over, bracing his elbows on his knees and runs his hands through his hair. He looks exhausted, dark purple shadows under his eyes. The past couple of days have beyond sucked, and now their last hope of figuring out another solution for Mia has just evaporated. They’re stuck. 

But instead of telling him she gets it, that she’s tired and scared too, Felicity just squares her shoulders, sitting up straight. “Yeah, well,” she says, forcing herself not to sound sympathetic. “Too bad. She’s ours now. Unless…” 

“Unless what?” Oliver looks over at her.

“Unless you want to surrender custody,” Felicity hears herself say. Honestly, it’s not even something she’s even considered until right now, but she just can’t deal with Oliver’s doom and gloom and refusal to even entertain the notion that they can handle Mia. Sure, it’s not an ideal situation, but Felicity’s spent her life figuring out solutions to not-ideal situations. She’s not going to let Oliver stop her from solving this one. 

“You want me to give her up?” Oliver demands, his voice so loud that Felicity’s worried he’s going to wake up the baby. 

“You want to pawn her off on your housekeeper!” Felicity tries to keep her voice down, she really does, but something about Oliver just drives her crazy, like it’s his life mission to push every one of her buttons and annoy the hell out of her. 

“That’s not what I said! And, besides, you were the one that was all gung-ho about handing her over to Laurel’s parents.”

Oliver’s glaring at her, looking equal parts angry and hurt, and Felicity doesn’t know when this conversation got so out of control. Her heart is beating weirdly fast and Oliver’s breathing hard, the sound loud in the quiet of the room, and she really needs to calm down. She just stares back at him for a couple of beats, trying to relax, trying to get her bearings. It’s been a really long day and neither one of them has gotten a solid night’s sleep in almost a week, and they need to figure this whole custody thing out logically. There’s just no way what Tommy and Laurel had planned is feasible. Felicity and Oliver can’t raise Mia together; they would drive each other nuts.

“Listen,” Felicity finally says, in what she thinks is a totally reasonable tone of voice. “Neither of us asked for this, and clearly, if given the choice, we wouldn’t have chosen to have a baby together. I mean, obviously, we wouldn’t have had sex in the first place, especially after that completely disastrous first date Laurel set us up on, which, by the way, was completely your fault. So, it’s not like we would have been in a position to decide to have a baby or not have a baby together since we wouldn’t have been doing anything that would result in a baby-–”

“Felicity!” 

Felicity stops, taking a deep breath and running a hand over the top of her ponytail, smoothing it down. “I know you care about Mia,” she says quietly, reaching over to put a hand on Oliver’s knee. It’s a totally friendly gesture, just meant to soften the blow of what she’s about to say, but Oliver’s gaze flickers down to her hand and Felicity’s face gets warm. “And I know you want to do what’s right for her, but…”

“But what?” Oliver demands.

“But...you’re barely even an adult, Oliver.” 

Oliver narrows his eyes. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“Well, for one thing, you still live in your parents’ _manor,_ ” she says, moving her hand away from his knee to make air quotes around the last word. “And you don’t have a job other than partying and getting trashed, and you’re just...you’re not exactly prime father material.”

He looks totally hurt by this, his eyes all big and sad and blue, all of which Felicity ignores. “I’m not giving up custody of Mia,” he says stubbornly, folding his arms over his chest and sitting back against the couch. 

“Fine,” Felicity agrees, even though it’s totally not fine, mirroring his posture.

The two of them living together and raising Mia is basically the worst idea in the world, but she’s tired of arguing with him right now. Besides, chances are good he’ll get bored soon with this whole playing house thing soon and Felicity won’t have to deal with him anymore.

*

The funeral was on a Sunday, which means the next day is Monday, which means Felicity needs to be back at work. She’s already taken a week off of work, and Oliver tells her she should take more, but she’s actually looking forward to getting back to the IT department, ready for her life to get slightly back to normal. 

Not that she isn't worried, because she definitely is, not sure how she’s going to adjust to essentially being a working mom and dealing with Oliver on daily basis. It's probably going to be a complete disaster 

But when she stumbles out of bed that morning, Oliver’s already gotten Mia out of her crib, and the whole house smells like coffee. Felicity follows her nose down to the kitchen, where Mia’s sitting in her highchair stuffing cut up pieces of pancakes into her mouth while Oliver stands at the stove, a spatula in one hand and a dish towel slung over his shoulder. 

His back is to Felicity when she comes into the room, and she just stands there for a couple of seconds, watching him. He’s wearing a threadbare grey t-shirt and green flannel pajama pants, his feet bare and his hair sticking up in a million different directions, and the whole scene is just so domestic, it makes Felicity’s heart do a funny flip in her chest. 

She’s not sure how long she stands there before Oliver notices her, catching her out of the corner of his eye as he slides another pancake on the plate. 

“Hey,” he says, and Felicity blinks, shaking her head, trying wake up a little more fully. “Want some coffee?”

“God, yes,” Felicity practically moans, walking into the kitchen, stopping to kiss Mia on the forehead before she heads over to the coffee maker.

“Hi, baby,” she says, inhaling Mia’s sweet baby smell. She smells like talc and baby shampoo and pancakes, and Felicity wonders how early Oliver must have gotten up to get Mia bathed and dressed and wrangled into her highchair. She decides not to mention that baths should probably wait until after breakfast. 

“Hi,” Mia says back, smiling at Felicity around a mouthful of half-chewed food, reaching up to pat Felicity’s cheek, leaving a smear of mashed-up pancake behind.

Felicity wrinkles her nose and Mia giggles, shoving another square of pancake into her mouth as Felicity heads over to get her coffee from the coffee pot next to the stove. There aren’t any clean mugs on the bottom shelves of the cabinet, and Felicity starts to stand up on her tiptoes before Oliver leans over and snags one of the mugs for her, his fingers brushing up against hers as he hands it to her. 

It’s funny, but Felicity somehow keeps forgetting how big Oliver is, how solid, how much space he takes up. Not in a bad way or anything, just...he’s big and broad-shouldered, and he also smells really good, the scent of his soap or whatever it is lingering under the smell of coffee and pancakes. And once she notices that, she’s just very aware of him, the heat of his body there as she takes her first sip of coffee.

She closes her eyes, tipping her head back and savoring it, humming in pleasure as the caffeine goes straight to her brain.

When she opens her eyes, Oliver’s staring at her, and suddenly she’s very aware that she’s still wearing her pajamas, thin cotton pants and a tank top, no bra or anything. 

Neither one of them says anything for a few beats, and it’s just way too early for Felicity to totally have her bearings yet, so she takes another swallow of coffee trying to focus on anything except how nicely Oliver’s shirt is clinging to his body or the way she can practically count the ridges of his abs through the thin fabric.

“Good?” Oliver finally says, and it takes her a second to realize he’s talking about the coffee.

Felicity blinks, taking another sip of coffee, forcing herself to look away. “Yep,” she manages, and if her voice sounds kind of rough, it’s probably just because she just woke up. 

“Good,” he says again, flipping the last pancake out of the pan and grabbing another plate for Felicity. “Let’s eat.”

Felicity follows him across the kitchen, pulling Mia’s high closer to the table before sitting down across from Oliver. From her seat between them, Mia starts babbling away happily. Felicity has no idea what she's saying. 

She looks over at Oliver, raising her eyebrows, but he just shrugs, apparently no better at deciphering early morning Mia-speak than she is. When Mia stops talking, she looks at them expectantly, and Oliver nods. “Good point,” he says seriously, and Felicity ducks her head, taking a sip of her coffee and trying not to smile. 

"Yah, yah," Mia says, nodding back, and then she's off again, babbling about something neither one of them can understand, and the kitchen smells like coffee and maple syrup, and it's just a really good morning.


End file.
